


Lightning crashes

by darkgreenwater



Category: The Lighthouse (2019)
Genre: M/M, warning for graphic depictions of sexual violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:08:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22100833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkgreenwater/pseuds/darkgreenwater
Summary: Winslow's rage knows no bounds; only the sea would understand, only the sea.
Relationships: Thomas Wake/Ephraim Winslow
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	Lightning crashes

He hits him, again. Hard.  
  


The blood rushes, eager to escape, from a gap in his forehead. Wake grins through it like the dirty, mad old dog that he is, grins with a mouth full of blood.   
  


The wind is harsh against the cracked window, the sea roars and gnaws at the rocks edging the island. Winslow's rage knows no bounds; only the sea would understand, only the sea.   
  


Lightning strikes, illuminates the little kitchen inside the lighthouse that stands in defiance against the storm. In the electric flash, Winslow sees the wicked gleam in Tom’s eye. He scowls.   
  


“You bastardly, mean, ugly, old son of a whore!” The spittle runs down Winslow’s chin. His chest heaves with exhaustion but his fists keep swinging blindly. Somehow they find their target again and again - bone cracks. Thomas winces.   
  


“Yes, that’s it, whine, dog, _whine_!”  
  


A new jolt of power surges through Winslow as he stares down at the old fool who, fallen to his knees, covers his nose with two brittle hands. Red heat drips into the water that floods the kitchen. The thick liquid kisses the water with an isolated sound. It spurs Winslow on.   
  


“How’s it feel to be small, huh?” He screams. Tears spill over - he doesn’t notice, or he doesn’t care.  
  


“How’s it feel to be at my mercy, dog?”  
  


Thomas squints up at Winslow. He cannot measure the sheer anger in the young man’s body.   
  


He can see it pooling in Winslow’s rising erection, though.   
  


The air between them is suddenly metallic and dense, as if filled with their blood rather than oxygen. Thomas can taste the iron of it on his tongue, can feel it running down his esophagus.   
  


Winslow stares down at his dog, their eyes blazing with tension. A new urge arises in Winslow, aside from the obvious need to punish, to kill. An urge that he’d met with once before, briefly.   
  


“Your mouth.” He whispers hoarsely. “Open.” He points at his own parted lips, forming a twisted, hateful “O”.   
  


Thomas shakes his head but follows the order. He turns his face slightly, one eye closed, as if frightened of a monster before him. The sight sends an aggressive rush into Winslow’s cock. 

  
In a fury he fumbles with the buttons of his fly before freeing himself. The weeks of shoveling coal made Winslow’s hands strong - they grip Thomas by both ears and pull him close.   
  


His cock is down Wake’s throat before he can react; He gags on what feels like a steel pipe, burning hot in his mouth. But Winslow’s got him in a vice grip. He pulls and shoves Thomas’ head like a ragdoll’s.   
  


“Show you what power looks like.” He breathes out, barely audible. “What it feels like.”   
  


He forces the other one’s face back and forth, back and forth, for a minute that feels like a second to Winslow, a millennium to Thomas.   
  


He unleashes himself with a blood curdling scream, and Thomas gurgles, chokes. Another lightning bolt crashes outside, right into the sea. The sound explodes around them but they barely notice.   
  


Still gripping his ears tight, Winslow pulls himself from Thomas and leans down quickly.  
  


“Look at me.” He says. “Look at me!” He yells, louder.  
  


Thomas looks. Their eyes meet for just a second- a vital second in which everything passes between them - and Winslow knows he finally won.   
  


He presses his mouth hard on Wake’s, locking their lips for one inescapable moment and tasting his own seed on the old man’s tongue.   
  


Then he clenches his fists even tighter around Wake’s ears, and snaps his neck in one clean, hateful jerk. 


End file.
